


Stars Fall On

by fansofcollisions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cooking, Domestic, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fill, sam and cas becoming buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fansofcollisions/pseuds/fansofcollisions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know why Cas is here, lying on the dirty floor surrounded by tools and muttering around faulty wiring.</p><p>“Need a hand?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars Fall On

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt on Tumblr: “Something about Sam and Cas being friends in the batcave.”
> 
> This was supposed to be a 500 word quick little thing. Then the characters decided to highjack my idea and run laughing maniacally into the night with it, and suddenly I had 3000 more words than I'd intended.

An echoing _crash_ wakes Sam in the middle of the night. He groans and rolls over, thinking it’s probably just Dean futzing around in the weapons room again.

Then he remembers that Dean’s out on a road trip, answering Jody Mills’ plea for assistance in something upstate.

He snaps himself out of bed as quickly as his aching, fevered muscles will allow. If it’s an intruder, he might be in trouble given his weakened state, but he’ll give them a hell of a fight at least.

Sam sneaks about the corridors, gun cocked and trained on the shadows ahead, muscles tensed for combat. When he rounds the corner to the main room, there’s another commotion, this time accompanied by a foreign word growled low.

Oh.

“Cas?” Sam calls, praying his guess is correct.

“Your telescope is malfunctioning,” comes the huffy reply, and Sam laughs a little in relief.

He covers his mouth when the laugh becomes a cough and makes his way into the observatory to find a pair of black dress shoes sticking out from beneath the enormous white piece of machinery. Sam treads carefully to avoid the various screws, dowels, and bolts scattered across the floor. An empty toolbox lies overturned at the foot of a chair.

“You’re back,” he says stupidly.

“Yes.”

Sam’s not sure if he’ll like the reply if he asks where Cas disappeared to in the first place, so he doesn’t. Instead he crouches down to peer underneath the telescope.

The angel sprawls upon the concrete floor. At his side lies a huge white panel, evidently the source of the initial crash, and what looks like an entire arsenal of screwdrivers and wrenches.

He doesn’t know what to say. Should he yell at Cas for taking off again, _again_ , even after Dean practically begged him to stay? Should he tell him to get lost for good this time and swear to himself never to tell Dean his best friend came back only to leave the next morning without even waiting to talk to him? Cause he doesn’t know what Cas is doing. He doesn’t even know why he’s here, lying on the dirty floor surrounded by tools and muttering around faulty wiring.

What he decides on is, “Need a hand?”

xxx---xxx---xxx---xxx---xxx

There’s nothing wrong with the telescope that he can tell. Then again, machinery is more Dean’s area of expertise than his, and it _certainly_ isn’t Castiel’s, judging by the mess he’s made of the area beneath the panel. Within only a few minutes he ascertains they’re doing far more harm than good down here and tells Cas as much, though he only gets a frustrated grunt in response.

All the dust from their fiddling below the machine aggravates Sam’s throat and his next coughing fit sends him rolling out from underneath it onto his hands and knees, clutching at his chest.

“I wish I could help you, Sam.” Cas’s mournful voice is muffled.

“Yeah, you and me both,” he says when he gets his breath back. “This sucks, man.”

Cas’s head peers out. Sam wants to laugh because his hair is all stuck up with white dust trailing through it. He looks like a skunk, or a mad scientist. “Come on out, ok? Let me see if I can get this sucker working from uptop.”

Castiel crawls to Sam’s side. His gaze is weary, defeated. “It doesn’t matter. You should go back to bed.”

“Hey, no giving up,” he says, slapping Cas on the shoulder. “We can get this working, I promise.” Not that he has any idea _why_ the angel wants the telescope working so badly since he could probably wing off any moment to drop in on the stars in person, but hey. If he can help, he will. He’s been feeling pretty useless lately and doing something productive sounds as good as sleep right about now.

Sam walks up to the control panel and eyepiece. There’s something like an old-fashioned video game controller there. He tentatively presses what he assumes is the joystick forward. There’s a whirring sound as the telescope changes position. He looks at Cas. “Seems like it’s working to me.”

“Trying looking through the eyepiece.” Sam does and sees only blackness. “I assumed there was something wrong with the circuitry which handles collection of the electromagnetic radiation. That’s what I was trying to correct.”

“Oh.” Sam looks up at the black, completely covered ceiling. “I’m pretty sure, um- I think you need to open the skylight. First. Um.” He withers under Cas’s glare.

“Thatis malfunctioning as well,” he grumbles. Which is odd, considering it had been working when they moved in and as far as he knew, neither he nor Dean had fiddled with it since. “And I don’t believe it’s the issue.”

Sam’s pretty damn certain it _is_ the issue, as everything else appears in working order, but he’s not about to argue with a creature who is a) looking more pissed off by the second, and b) has the capability to smite him where he stands. Not that he ever thinks Cas would hurt him (then again, he didn’t think so the last time), but the instinct to placate rather than fight is still strong.

He walks over to the wall and pulls open the grey box there, unveiling a lever. When he pulls it, the ceiling begins to shift, swirling into itself and then outwards. The opening unveils the night sky in all its glory, clear in a way that can only be when one is out in the middle of nowhere like they are, far from the smog of the big cities. Cas just looks at him, then the lever. His expression is unreadable.

“Try it again,” Sam says. Cas follows the order and looks through the eyepiece. “Can you see anything?”

Cas doesn’t speak. He just backs away from the telescope after a moment, eyes downcast. He reaches down and grabs a wrench.

Sam isn’t prepared for the echoing sound it makes when the metal hits the wall and he ducks instinctively, covering his ears. Cas grabs a hammer this time and hurls it. A crack begins forming and Sam rushes forward to grab his arm, already laden with another wrench, before he can do any more damage.

“Jesus, Cas! What the hell are you doing?”

The response is cold, its delivery somehow blank. Sam is unnerved. “I’ve seen Dean do this. It seems to give him some comfort when he’s angry or upset.” He considers the wrench in his hand then tosses it to the floor in disgust. “It doesn’t seem to be having the same effect for me.”

“Cas, it doesn’t matter-“

“Your designs make little sense,” he says and walks out of the room with the power of a storm, Sam trailing after him feeling quite helpless. “Why would you place the lever on the wall far from every other control?”

“Hey, I didn’t build this thing,” Sam calls after him into the main room. “Seriously, Cas, wait-“

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“It doesn’t-“

“I’m sorry I cause more trouble than I prevent. I’m sorry that every time I try to do something helpful, I end up dragging you and Dean into another mess. I’m sorry that I’m too _stupid_ ,” a _crack_ as Cas slams his fist onto the war table and the glass covering fractures, “to figure out how to operate a simple array of metal and mirrors.” He collapses into a chair, eyes turned to the ceiling. “I’m no use to anyone here.”

Sam sits across from him, mindful to avoid the broken glass when he reaches forward to touch Cas’s arm. “We don’t want you here because you’re useful. We just want you _here_.”

“I don’t think Dean wants me here anymore.”

 _Jesus Christ, is he actually this dense?_ “If Dean didn’t want you here, he’d have put a gun to your head a long time ago and told you to get out.” Cas chuckles without mirth. Sam isn’t sure what he’s thinking of, but he’s obviously remembering something. “We both just need to know you’re ok.”

“I’m always fine.”

“Last time we saw you, you had a bullet wound in your gut that wasn’t healing and took up half my bed for a day straight even though angels supposedly don’t sleep. That sound like fine to you?” Sam chokes down whichever new angry words were preparing to leave his mouth when he sees the look on Cas’s face. It’s not even hurt, or anger. It’s just… nothingness.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Cas stands, eyes on some distant point in the horizon, and Sam knows what’s coming.

“Don’t you _dare_ fly off again. Not now. Not when Dean’s going to be back in a few hours and I’ll have to tell him you didn’t even stick around to say hello. Not without telling us where you’re going.”

Sam’s standing now too, standing in front of Cas and he doesn’t know how he got there, only that his arms are now wrapping around Cas’s frame, enveloping the smaller body in the hug he should have given years ago. Castiel stands stiffly, his arms flexed , before ever so slowly melting into Sam’s body. He leans his head on Sam’s shoulder and murmurs, “You should hate me.”

“You’re family,” Sam answers the unasked question.

“That’s not enough.”

“It’s enough.”

They stand there for longer than is probably socially acceptable for two dudes to be hugging, but Cas doesn’t seem in any hurry to move away and Sam- well, Sam’s just happy to still have him here. And if that means giving a super long, somewhat awkward hug, he can deal with it.

Castiel is the one to break their embrace. Sam’s a little surprised to see him blinking rapidly in a very human way. “You’re going to stick around, right?”

Cas nods. “For as long as I can.”

“Alright. Well.” Sam looks around him, searching for something to keep an angel occupied. He can’t exactly tell him to stay and then not offer him anything to do but sit in the corner quietly. While Sam is thinking, Cas reaches down and repairs the broken glass of the table with a touch.

“Hey, why couldn’t you just do that with the telescope?” Sam says in a teasing tone.

Cas replies after considering the question a moment, “Things are much easier to fix when you can see their problem on the surface. When the issue is internal, and in a machine I have no experience with…”

“Yeah, I see your point.”

“And besides, as you showed me, it wasn’t broken. So I couldn’t have fixed it in any case.” Cas chuckles sadly. “You were right. I probably did more damage trying to dig out a problem that wasn’t there.”

“Why were you trying to use the telescope anyway?”

Cas looks up at the ceiling again, pondering. “I’m still trying to find my purpose, Sam. The stars seemed as good a place to look as any.” He smiles, but it’s a bitter smile. “It seemed very important at the time.”

Sam wants to call bullshit, tell him that he knows what his purpose is, what’s been his purpose for years, that that purpose will likely be walking through the front door in less than five hours demanding beer and bacon sandwiches. But he’s sworn to let these two idiots work it out on their own with as little interference as possible, so he holds his tongue.

“Well, I’ve got a purpose for you right now. I’m starving, and I’m sure Dean will be too whenever he gets back. Want to help me cook something?”

Cas closes his eyes and holds a hand to his temple as though staving off a headache. Sam rubs the back of his neck, waiting for a response. “Yes. Alright. Let’s do that.”

“Alright.” Sam smiles. “Kitchen’s this way, in case Dean didn’t give you a tour last time you were here.”

“Where _is_ Dean, by the way?” Cas asks, his voice all false casualness.

“He’s out,” Sam says. “Won’t be back till morning. But you knew that, didn’t you? You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t.” At least Cas has the decency to look abashed. “You know, avoiding him’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” _I’m not the one to apologize to._

As they wander into the kitchen it occurs to Sam that neither he nor Dean has managed to make a grocery trip in the three days since Cas left the last time. They’ve been surviving on an abundance of takeout Chinese, but even that’s probably running short. He sighs, hoping Dean was exaggerating for comedic effect with the whole peanut butter cup thing and that there are maybe a few eggs in the fridge at least.

To his great surprise, when he opens the fridge he finds the thing stocked full. An assortment of miscellaneous condiments, packages of raw meat, bags of mushrooms and bell peppers and premade caesar salad kits line the shelves. The entirety of the crisper is filled with bottles of beer (Dean’s favourite, he can’t help but notice). There’s no rhyme or reason to the organization of the contents, nor the nature of the contents themselves. He notices there’s a suspicious trickle of amber liquid which could be maple syrup running down the edge of a shelf, which makes him think there might be a broken bottle in there somewhere, but still. It’s food. Lots of food. He turns to Cas.

“You did this?”

“I made a few trips.” Castiel shrugs. Sam turns back to survey the bounty, grinning.

“This is… thanks, Cas. This is awesome.”

“It’s the least I could do.” And with that he pushes past Sam to grab a package of Portobello mushrooms and some cheese Sam’s never heard of and can’t identify and a hunk of ground beef.

“What are we making?”

“Burgers.” Sam opens his mouth, then closes it again and nods to himself before grabbing some tomatoes from the icebox to begin slicing. It may be three in the morning but he’s had burgers for breakfast more times than he’d like to count, and they were the shitty K-mart ones too so this is definitely a step up. And it’s one thing he _knows_ Dean likes. Which is probably why Cas decided on that particular recipe, come to think of it.

Cas sets his provisions down on the counter and then stares at them, as though the burning of his glare will magically cook the meat to perfection. Sam grabs the package of beef from him and starts to rip it open when another coughing fit overtakes him. He looks down to see a spatter of blood on his bare arm.

Crap.

“I think I’d better sit this out after all, Cas. Sorry.” The angel gives him such a look of mixed helplessness and betrayal that he almost feels shittier than he already did. “I’m not sure it’s really sanitary-“

“Your ailment is not communicable.”

“I don’t think Dean’s gonna care if he finds out all the red on his burger isn’t ketchup.”

“I don’t know how to cook this.” Now Cas just sounds petulant. _Why did you pick a dish you couldn’t cook, dumbass?_ Then again, this is probably the first time he’s ever cooked at all, period. Maybe he should cut the guy some slack.

“I’ll walk you through it, don’t worry,” says Sam as he drags a chair over and plunks himself down. “What are the mushrooms for, by the way?”

“There was a magazine in the store, with a recipe.” Cas looks thoughtful. “Maybe I should return and get it, it could be helpful-“

“Don’t. We’ve got this.” Cas regards him dubiously. “I think we can figure out how to cook a damn mushroom without Rachel Ray’s help.” _Why was Cas even looking at the magazines anyway?_

With Sam’s guidance and only one minor oil fire the two end up with a pile of steaming sautéed mushroom strips in a pan and a pile of sliced tomatoes.

Next is the beef. Cas divides the pound in half with his hands. “Hey! What’re you doing?” Cas turns to Sam, confused. “Three patties, right?”

“I don’t need sustenance, Sam.”

“You seemed to enjoy that popcorn just fine. Come on. Just try it.” Sam would feel pretty bad if the poor guy went through all this effort and didn’t even get to taste the fruit of his own labour.

So Cas obliges. He cooks all three patties, checking them constantly for how red the insides are as per Sam’s instruction, though he doesn’t intend that Cas turn them into ravaged war landscapes with his spatula. They still look delicious though, and Sam’s stomach grumbles. The grated cheese goes on at the last minute to two of the patties and they’re done.

They eat in silence, burgers served on rye bread with too much mustard and spinach instead of lettuce and mushroom strips which are far more delicious than Sam had anticipated by their look. Cas chews thoughtfully all the while and stares at his burger, as though each new bite might reveal some new grand thing about the chemical composition of the meat.

“Hey, Cas. Let me ask you something,” Sam says as they’re clearing away the pots and pans (Cas magics them clean, which is _wonderful_ , as scrubbing grease out of stainless steel isn’t his idea of a fun early morning activity). They leave all the ingredients in bowls on the counter, to be reheated whenever Dean shows up. He takes a deep breath. “Are we… friends?”

Cas blinks at him. “I- Do you think we are?”

“Yeah. I mean, a lot of shit’s gone down, I know that, but I’d like to think we’re, you know, more than just acquaintances passing in the night. And I know that I, that _we_ , haven’t always been there for you when you needed us.”

“You’ve given me more than I dese-“

“No. Listen to me, Cas.” He grabs him by the shoulders. “You deserve more than all the shit you’ve had to go through. And you deserve to have more than one person in your life who you can come to if things get rough. So yeah, we’re friends, alright? At least on my side.”

Castiel searches his face with an expression Sam can’t interpret. “Yes,” he says finally. “We’re friends.”

Sam coughs, though this time it has nothing to do with the trials and related body deterioration. “Good. Um. I mean… good.” He nods and goes to check if there’s anything left on the stove. It’s already spotless of course.

Luckily the sound of a slamming door rescues him from the awkwardness and he turns back to Cas to find the angel’s look of contentment has been replaced with one that comes closer to terror.

“Hey, at least you’ve got a peace offering this time,” Sam says, and smiling hands the bag of rye bread to Cas. He takes it wordlessly and before Sam can blink, there’s a perfectly made burger sitting in the middle of the counter, steam rising off the plate. “You know, that’s cheating,” he teases.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says again, and swallows. Sam decides it’s high time to leave them to it.

“I’m just going to out this away in the pantry. Be back in a sec,” Sam says, fully intending to retreat to his room after completing the errand. He grabs a bag of groceries off the opposite counter which mysteriously Cas hadn’t elected to store with the other food and hightails it out, no response to be heard from Cas.

Dean’s unmistakable footfalls make their way to the kitchen and Sam hears low voices, so he hurries along to the pantry.

Overall, though he’s exhausted now, a pretty damn good night. Maybe he and Cas will have to do this again. Or get Dean to teach them how to cook something. Who knows? After all this is over, he promises himself they’ll make time for it.

He opens the cupboard door and reaches his hand into to the bag.

_What the-_

Ok, that explains why Cas was looking at the magazines then. Blushing, Sam slides the porn under the door of Dean’s room before heading to his own. Give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and all that.

And a little later? He’s going to be exercising his privilege as newly minted friend and give Cas a little talk about what gifts are and are not appropriate to give to other guy friends.

(Ok, so Dean gave _him_ porn mags once, but that was a special case.)

(Fuck it. Maybe those two are meant for each other after all.)

 


End file.
